


wherever you are

by exaustedpidgeon



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Returns, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Sad with a Happy Ending, Steve Rogers Has Issues, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 04:49:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19456699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exaustedpidgeon/pseuds/exaustedpidgeon
Summary: And in the end comes hell or high water – they will always come back home. And "home" is wherever Steve is.Wherever Bucky is.(where catws ends differently and steve wants his bucky back. i read about that original scene in tws where steve was supposed to meet bucky st the smithsonian so i thought what would happen if it were like that)





	wherever you are

The asset screams and Steve would recognize that scream everywhere. It's been haunting him for as long as he can remember. 

And all of a sudden, he feels guilt growing in his chest. A dense black mass that's taking his breath away, just like that one scream, and Steve closes his eyes for a second – just for a second, he doesn't need to watch. God save him, he can't stand watching it. 

The monitor turns off with one click, and it breaks Steve's heart in pieces. He stands, frozen. Sam's looking at him, he stills completely just like he's trying to prepare himself for a probable breakdown, and to his surprise – Steve doesn't.

He's so changed. He's so different. That man on screen, little he looks like the guy he knew all his life. He's another one, a man he doesn't know, something that resembles his past but, in fact, it isn't. And damn, it's all so strange, so terribly new. He lived four years thinking the only bond he still had with his past was Peggy, now old, married – and what's terrible about this, is that she doesn't remember him, at times. And Steve came to terms with it, because it was Peggy – his miraculously strong best girl.

But with Bucky, God rest his poor soul, he can't. 

He just can't. 

He can't accept it. Not when Bucky made that face on the Helicarrier. Not when Bucky pulled him from the river. Not when he has Bucky back. 

Back in 1944 at the funeral, when the cemetery had one more empty grave, Steve's eyes were blank and his mouth was dry. Peggy said if you truly love someone, Steve, you let them go. Bullshit. Steve's only wish was to be with him and he couldn't. He couldn't. 

Eventually, Sam notices a spark of sadness in his eyes. He doesn't ask. He learned not to ask. Steve would come up with that alone, just like he always does, just like everytime Sam tries to dig inside the man's feelings. 

-When he fell, the doctors said he probably didn't suffer.- Steve starts, his voice heavy, -But what the hell did they know about it. I should've been there, ready for him, to catch him, but I wasn't, as always. Bucky waded in and pulled me out, just like he always did. And the one time he needed me to do that, I couldn't. All I do is think about it all the time, about what he may have felt, what he may have thought. He will never stop dying for me. I wasn't there for him. He died alone.-

His last sentence echoes in his head. He died alone, and yet, why was the man on the screen alive? Why was Bucky even there, tortured like that? 

As Steve leaves the room, the scream continues in his head and eats his temples raw.  
  
  
\------------  
  
  
Later in DC, Steve plays with the pen on a sheet of his sketchbook. 

It's been a long time since he last saw those records. Actually, it's been a long time since he last saw Bucky at all. Life has been an unpredictable roller-coaster of events and, lately, the feeling of being constantly watched is something he really can't get rid of. 

(Yeah well, what else is new.)

He doesn't sleep much, as the dark circles under his eyes say. To be honest, he hasn't slept well in months since the last time he met the Winter Soldier – or was it Bucky? He doesn't know. He's different, he's changed, he's someone stuck in the middle of the avenue of memories, swinging from this to that, from Bucky to someone he doesn't know: but still, those light eyes have the same color they had before (even if Steve couldn't see it), and his hair is long, long to his nose, so it doesn't show if he cries sometimes. 

Bucky hasn't been there for a while – his visits come and go. If even Steve can call them visits. It's tempting to want to see him, to go for it and take the chance, but Steve knows it's more than just going after him, and the last time Bucky was there, he ran away overnight, leaving his bed empty and the window open. Obviously, Steve freaked out. 

And since that, leaving the window lock open became a habit. As much as his brain keeps telling him that doing that is the worst idea ever, Steve won't stop leaving spots open for Bucky. He knows he doesn't like doors: he sneaked through his bedroom's window back in the 30s one night, even if he knew where the keys were. 

And he spends days and days basking and whining and asking himself where did Bucky go? Where did he find a place to live, a place to sleep in, to eat, to be better? Why did he leave – or mostly why did he leave _again?_

But did he actually leave, or is he just observing his movements from afar? God, he's tired of feeling like he's constantly walking through a minefield, blindfolded and with no actual perception of where the hell he's gonna put his feet on, but that's how Bucky's mind goes now: it's a bomb. A ticking, complex bomb that nobody's ever seen before. It could explode with nothing, leaving his memory even more scattered, or it could just stay right there, ticking quietly, marking time like a clock, until someday it just shuts down in complete silence, ignored and isolated by everyone and everything. 

And Steve didn't really listen when they taught him how to defuse a bomb back when he was really just a kid from Brooklyn. 

A sudden tick and his head quickly snaps up. Steve looks around, and he trembles when a breeze hits the back of his neck, like the delicate puff of a ghost. Outside, the snowstorm reminds him of those times in Rockaway Beach, when he used to jump with both feet into water, and his shoes were soaking wet, and snowflakes got stuck in the wool of his scarf, and his coat was so big he looked like a dumpling and the beach covered in snow was almost as beautiful as Bucky laughing behind him. But Bucky is gone, right? He's gone forever, he's never coming back. 

A loud bump reverberates in his hears, and suddenly his house doesn't seem like his house anymore. It's a blur, a vision, panic fills up his veins and lets blood fade away, it takes his heart that starts beating fast and his head is loud, and everything around him seems so fake and for a second, a rough second, he feels like he's about to die. 

He never asked for help. Sam doesn't exist to be his therapist, and on the other hand, what would people think if Captain America needed help? What would people think if their national hero actually suffered from severe illnesses, as Sam once described them? He'd love to have him here, but he'd keep on saying he needs someone to talk to and Steve doesn't– he doesn't–

-Ow...- a voice coming from his kitchen. 

Oh God, _breathe._ In and out. Calm down. 

Name three things in the room. Red– shit, he doesn't keep red stuff. Three– blue. The globe. The cover of the Wizard of Oz. The map of constellation he keeps pinned on his corkboard. 

Breathe in, breathe out. 

A figure stands right ahead of him, and despite Steve knows exactly who that is, he still feels like he's lucid dreaming. Perfectly shaped, tall, muscled, and once Steve turns the kitchen's lights on, he hears a thunder from far away, and he swears his heart skips a beat or two. Face paler than the moon and hair like waves. It's him, his Bucky, dressed up in some random clothes that seem to be too thin for the snowstorm that's rumbling outside, and he's soaking wet, and Steve hates life for being so unfair with him. 

At least he thinks it's Bucky, he can't really read his eyes as easily as he could do back when they were really just Steve and Bucky. He hopes with all his heart– _please, please don't be the asset._

The things they've done to him– they hurt him bad in that goddamn chair and Steve can and will take down all of HYDRA himself for everything they've done to him. They took away everything from him. They took his childhood and his memories, they wiped away his clever mind and his croaked smiles, they wiped away the boy who always leaned back a little when he laughed and Steve can't even tell how much he wants to protect him right now, to be there for him right now, and--

He hasn't even spoken yet.

His voice comes out shaking, full insecurity as he finally asks, _-Bucky?-_

And Bucky doesn't quite answer. He stiffens a little, snow stuck in his hair, the night's breeze hits his cheeks, which became red because of the cold outside – God, he must feel so bad right now, but Steve's feet are too heavy to move in search of a blanket to wrap him up with, and they're interlacing their looks together just like fingers, just like lovers would do.

And that's silly.

-I couldn't... didn't know. Where else to go.- Bucky speaks and his voice feels a lot like a heavy boulder: cracked, proven by cold and wind, and he's probably starving, and his eyes look so sad. And again, it breaks Steve's heart in pieces.

-You...- you can always come here, you're the most welcome person here, you're– Buck, you're _here_ -I mean...-

Actually Steve has no idea what to say first. He'd love to say something, anything about what he's feeling right now, but words just won't come out.

-C'mon, come... come here.-

And it's Brooklyn all over again. His voice comes out softer, lighter, lost in the back alleys of that district that made him rise out of the ashes. He'd name every alley Brooklyn has – he got beaten up in most of them and in most of them Bucky pulled him out, just like he always did. 

Back then, emotions were taken in a lighter way. The things he felt back then are nothing compared to the choking feeling that took his throat right now, just by seeing him. His head is loud, heavy, it spins quickly and for the first time ever in these past years, Steven Grant Rogers doesn't have a plan. He's always been organized for as long as he became an Avenger, but this – this puts a timer in his brain just like a bomb _(how come he keeps thinking about bombs?)_ and Bucky's eyes speak for him and let him see his soul that's as vast and deep and tormented and messy as ocean waves during a storm and Steve doesn't even mind drowning helplessly like a castaway in those sad eyes. 

As Bucky silently walks in front of him, Steve starts sweating cold. His hands shake uncontrollably while he tries to take the blanket off the couch – he keeps one during winter, those boring evenings he watches TV without even understanding what's going on in these programs. God, does he hate being a man out of time. 

-Will you... stay the night?- he asks, handing over the blanket. He watches him wrapping himself up with that, covering his cheeks a little, and his nose is red – despite being completely out of context, Steve finds that absolutely adorable. 

Bucky's first response is a little nod. It's like he's trying to hide into that comfy blanket and Steve stops himself from the instinct to hug him tight and never let him go. -I don't... maybe. I don't really know. Don't wanna– bother.-

It's like he hasn't spoken normally to anyone in a century. It's been a goddamn long time and Steve is so tired of every single rumor he's heard on himself, the things about them, the fact that he had kept Bucky hidden one time, the fact that he "probably" met him at the Smithsonian. God, that was a whole different thing. He swore he felt the weight of Bucky's eyes while they kept staring at each other, and then Steve whispered his name, and Bucky looked confused, and Steve kept whispering _Bucky, Bucky, Bucky,_ and Bucky didn't know anything, didn't know if even he was anything, and life felt like too much to keep on his shoulders and Steve had to follow him outside the museum because he was having a breakdown and–

_And that's the worst thing to think about now, Steve, get yourself together._

-You can always stay. You never bother me.- now, that was a little too quick, he thinks, and that's why he blushed all of a sudden. 

Comes hell or high water, Steve will always find a way to take Bucky with him, because Bucky is Steve's home. Because they're both each other's home, and they can't trust anybody else the way they always trusted each other, because life ain't easy for the two of them and there's no Steve without Bucky and no Bucky without Steve. They know, they've experienced it, a hundred times: their hearts have been broken for a hundred years, and nothing can ever repair the damages of love but love itself. Facts is, they're true soulmates, they're brothers of war, and Steve can't even believe Bucky is right there in front of him, beautiful, handsome as he's always been. 

Bucky — whom Steve would tear the world apart to find. 

Bucky, who now looks at him a little wide eyed, same eyes as seventy years ago, a pair of eyes who stole the sky and trapped it right there – playful and thoughtful at the same time. And he remembers his ma once told him everyone has a guardian angel: Bucky has always been his. He didn't own many things back then. A pair of brushes, some watercolors, sheets to draw on, one shirt, one pair of pants, broken shoes full of newspapers. That was all he got, but Bucky... Bucky was a whole different level. 

He could never draw Bucky. 

You can check every single drawing: he could never draw those eyes, that quiet smile shaped by time, cold, and torture. Not even now, he could never draw this Bucky: his hands refuse to work whenever he wants to impress on paper that stone calm, heavy as the guilt he carries within himself – within his walls. 

-Bucky... stay.- it comes out with a sigh.

He feels the weight of his gaze on his shoulders and he feels fragile. He feels broken, he feels sick, his lungs close in a vise, realizing it's been so long since Bucky looked at him in the eyes. And he also feels it, the _thing_ that's quickly growing back again in his chest, a burning feeling older than time itself (and so is the promise). Silly, he thinks. He understands it now. Sam once asked if he had any idea of what his sexuality was, and Steve had no answer because he didn't know what to say to him. He was Steve, Steve who was in love with Bucky, and he was in love with him because Bucky was his and Steve was Bucky's and none of them was–

And yes, his brain just made a Lost and Delirious reference. 

But those bright summer days are gone and now it's just light footprints on the dirty snow of DC's streets. 

-I can't go on like this, I... can't wake up in the morning knowing you're out there, somewhere, knowing that you may be suffering and... and...- his mood now feels like a waterfall, his feelings rumbling down his mouth smashing to the ground harshly, quickly as if hell is following them. 

-I'm good.- he replies.

-No, you're not, Buck.- Steve is insistent. He wants to say, don't lie to me, I know you. He wants to say, curse me God if I don't. 

Bucky stays silent. This man in front of him isn't that outrageously reckless kid with lemon-colored hair who crossed his life so damn loudly, but still — those violent, sky-blue eyes, so deep yet so stubborn. Those are the same eyes.

He knows him. He saw him many times in his dreams, in his memories, he swears he could know him in a crowd just by the sweet melody of his voice, he'd know him just as well as the deafening sound of a gunshot. 

And so it happens to seem that Steve knows him too. He knows him too. 

-Please, Bucky.- and Steve can't even believe his tone, -Stay with me.- he's _begging._ When was the last time he begged for something? -Please stay.-

In the end, they will always stay. They always did whatever it took, and whatever it takes, they will never be separated. Steve is always honest: he never breaks a promise. 

As Bucky sighs and reaches out for him, caressing his cheek, something similar to a slight smile breaks that apparent stone calm – a crack of wrinkles at the corner of those icy blue eyes, as if his walls were starting to break – and a faint sound comes out of his mouth. 

-Okay.- it's calm and quiet and it sounds peaceful, and Steve can finally smile. 

Home as never been a specific place, but Steve feels it the way it is: warm. It warms up Bucky's frozen tip of the nose, his cheeks, his fingers. It fixes his mind and his heart, which has been broken for years.

Home was Brooklyn, but home is also his apartment. Home is his job, the Avengers, his new family. Home is the smell of the docks that remind him of a long, long time ago, back when Bucky worked there and he smelled of fish and salt and cigarettes everytime he came visit him – that dusty chimney sweep hat he always took with him, a gift from his dad, and home was also Steve, reckless as ever and worried as hell, who took care of him everytime his back was hurting.

This time, it's nothing different.

Steve looks at Bucky like he's never seen him before and his eyes are filled with love. And Bucky can read something there, a feeling buried inside the mess his mind is, but he knows Steve will help him go through this. He always will.

And in the end comes hell or high water – they will always come back home. And "home" is wherever Steve is. 

Wherever Bucky is.

**Author's Note:**

> okay listen it's currently 5am in my time zone, i just finished this shit and idk what to think about it so please give me recognition
> 
> (k no you're not obliged but if you left a comment i'd be pleased)
> 
> lemme know if there are mistakes, english isn't my first language and i wrote this to exercise a little bit
> 
> to my friend demi who inspired a lot of things


End file.
